


Impressive

by makesometime



Category: Terra Nova (TV)
Genre: F/M, Medical Procedures, Pre-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixty-seven stitches in Somalia <i>or</i> Wash tries not to freak out when her CO nearly gets gutted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressive

"How many's that now?"

Wash tried to laugh, but it caught in her throat like a choked sob. "Forty-seven, sir."

She swiped at her hair, leaving a streak of his blood behind on her forehead. Taylor watched as she flexed her tired fingers, the pain in his side easing to a dull throb as he studied her face, the meds finally starting to kick in.

"Come on, make it an even fifty."

She shook her head at his words, a smile breaking through. "It might be shallow but it'll take a few more than that, sir."

The gunfire around them was unceasing, though they were in a relatively sheltered location. Despite the constant noise, Wash's concentration was unflinching. When a stray bullet hit the tree beside them showering them with bark she simply brushed it aside, clearing her route to his wound and getting back into her stitching rhythm.

Taylor moved his hand from where it rested on his upper chest and put it on Wash's shoulder. He squeezed as she paused briefly at the contact.

"Almost done." She said, her voice hoarse.

"Oh, take your time." He said. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

She tied off and sat back on her haunches, inspecting her handiwork. She ran a finger along the long line of his wound (he damn near shuddered at the sensation, of all the things to inspire a reaction like that) and nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Not my finest work but it'll do."

"Thank you ma'am." Taylor said as he pulled down the remains of his t-shirt and started to fasten his jacket, only to find his hands batted away.

"Sir! You've lost a lot of blood, most of it on me!" Wash cried, pushing his jacket back down to the forest floor. "No way in hell I'm letting you just get up and walk back into combat."

He raised an eyebrow at her frankly insubordinate tone but she stared him down, showing all of the backbone he'd come to value so much. "Fine. But I'm not getting an evac down here. You're gonna have to help me back to base."

"Fine by me, sir." She said, easing herself to her feet, gathering her kit and then bending to help him. 

He put his arm around her shoulders, pushed as she heaved and eventually he was upright, feet back on solid ground. Her right arm wrapped tightly around his torso and Taylor felt the comforting heat of her left hand come to rest squarely in the middle of his stomach.

"Good?" She asked.

"No." He answered honestly. "But I will be. Hop to it soldier."

Wash guided them out of the small clearing she'd shoved him into earlier, once she'd discovered the cause of the frantic call for a medic. Her highly trained senses picked up a change in the nearby gunfire once their slow retreat was spotted, turning into cover fire to allow them a safe route back to base - not that it was far, he'd barely made it out of the compound this time.

"How many in the end?" He asked, his words forced through gritted teeth meaning they lost their intended amusement.

"Sixty-seven, sir."

"Impressive." He said, though the word became a stifled groan as his foot jarred against an exposed root.

Was wasn't sure if he meant her, or the scale of the injury. If it was the latter she almost agreed, but the memory of how fraught Ayani was last time she had to put even _ten_ stitches in her CO was enough to stop her from doing so.

Once they reached the compound she handed him off to the proper medical staff, the ones whose job usually ended up being checking her work and passing him fit as a result. (He would often brag that they _always_ passed him fit after her treatment, but she suspected that was more to do with the fact that he had to be unconscious to spend more than fifteen minutes in the infirmary.)

"Thanks again Wash." He said, refusing the offered gurney with an angry swipe of his hand.

"Anytime, sir."

"I hope you mean that." He teased, leaning on a medic as the much larger man easily guided him away.

"I do, sir." She replied almost to herself, thinking it was probably a good thing neither of them truly knew yet how much she meant that.


End file.
